


Want For Nothing

by orphan_account



Category: GOT7
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:29:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10540248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Shittiest boyfriend ever," mutters Mark. He isn't smiling. Definitely not. "Shittiest friend ever, for that matter. What did you get for all the others, bottle caps? Candy wrappers?""You think so ill of me," Jackson sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "'course not. The other presents will have to come later, though." His voice lowers. "Have a couple things on my to-do list to get to first."





	

Mark's phone beeps a few seconds after his first morning alarm goes off. The message reads  _back_. Nothing else. Surprisingly terse for a Jackson text.

The door to Jackson's room is unlocked, and Jackson looks up when Mark pads in, still in his pajama set and slippers. Jackson, unsurprisingly, is surrounded by an ocean of open half-unpacked suitcases and piles of laundry, and has yet to remove his shiny new Dolce & Gabbana loafers. "Hey," Jackson says. "I got you a present."

Mark gingerly navigates his way around the mess on the floor before taking a seat beside Jackson on the mattress. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Jackson removes a box of what looks to be Chinese medicine from his suitcase and presses them into Mark's palm. "Happy one-hundred-and-sixty-two day anniversary," he intones solemnly, then neatly ducks Mark's fist.

"Shittiest boyfriend ever," mutters Mark. He isn't smiling. Definitely not. "Shittiest friend ever, for that matter. What did you get for all the others, bottle caps? Candy wrappers?"

"You think so ill of me," Jackson sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "'course not. The other presents will have to come later, though." His voice lowers. "Have a couple things on my to-do list to get to first."

Mark already has his eyes closed and mouth open when Jackson leans in; their mouths slide together as Jackson's hand curls around the base of Mark's neck, warm and sure. The early-morning sunlight streaming in through the windows is hot on Mark's skin, but the warmth Mark feels as he licks across the chapped places on Jackson's lower lip is internal, coursing through his veins, lazy, slow.

"Hey," Jackson says again, softer this time, carding his fingers through Mark's hair, pressing his calloused thumb into the space behind Mark's earlobe. His free hand makes its way up Mark's shirt. "Are you happy to see me?"

"I'll be happier after you take a bath," Mark murmurs, voice muffled against Jackson's lips. "You smell like you've been sitting out in the rain for a month. What _is_ that cologne?"

"You charmer, you," says Jackson, but he obediently pads off to the restroom anyway.

Mark peels away each article of clothing slowly, half-listening to Jackson's tuneless hum bouncing off the tiles in the shower stall. He's pulling off his left sock when he hears the running water come to a stop. Then the sound of squelchy, slippered footsteps, and then a soft hiss of breath between teeth.

"Wow," Mark says, turning around. "You must have set a record for quickest shower ever taken." He can feel his ears flushing crimson, hear the quiver in his own voice, and he hates himself a little, but the way Jackson's looking at him right now, he’s still not used to it. From Jackson, anyway.

Jackson's mouth curls into a grin. "I have places to be," he says. "I'm a man with a mission. I -"

"Shut up." Mark steps forward and kisses him hard, both hands wrenched in Jackson's t-shirt, and it bruises his lower lip very slightly because Jackson had been in the middle of talking and thus he'd been met with teeth, but Mark finds that he rather likes that, the dull ache of it. He pulls Jackson in closer, frowns. "Why'd you put clothes back on?"

"Too cold." Jackson raises an eyebrow. "Do I pass your hygiene test now?"

"You're okay, I guess," Mark allows, and lets Jackson haul him backwards, push him down until he's sprawled across the mattress with Jackson hovering over him, eyes shadowed and dark. For a moment they don't speak, just the sound of their bodies' mechanisms at work, hearts thrumming in their ribcages, their diaphrams expanding. The sunlight has Jackson glowing white-edged along the perimeter of his body, and every inch of Mark's skin is sharply visible; Jackson's gaze is clear and unwavering as it travels over Mark’s frame. They’ve known each other so long but Mark still feels so exposed like this, so vulnerable. Despite his massive fanbase he had never truly believed his body was worth careful scrutiny, and six months later it's still a thrill.

"Jackson." Mark reaches his hand out, closing his fingers over Jackson's wrist, and flips them over, settling his knees around Jackson's hips and pulling Jackson's sweater over his head, ignoring Jackson's squawks of protest.

"I want to suck you off," Mark says quietly, once they're both fully naked, and Jackson's eyes go wide and marble-round in a terribly gratifying manner. "Is that, um, cool with you?"

"Like you even need to – god, Mark, fuck, yes, please," Jackson breathes, pulling Mark in by the nape of his neck, and Mark shushes him, saying "you gotta keep quiet, okay, it's too early to put on sex-disguising music."

"Hey, you're the screamer of the two of us," says Jackson, smirking, and Mark would respond with something witty and cutting – honestly! – if his mouth weren't so busy with more important matters.

He's done this a thousand times before, kissing Jackson's throat, the skin right beneath the angle of his jaw, applying a little pressure the way he knows Jackson likes. He counts out a few beats of Jackson's fluttering pulse beneath his lips, feels the flush surging up Jackson's neck. It's completely unexpected, Jackson's hand wrapping around his cock and gripping it tight, but Mark manages to bury his whimper in Jackson's shoulder blade, just in time.

The line of Jackson's neck is sturdy, smooth. Mark runs his fingers along its path, rubs his palm against the hard knob of Jackson's spinal column, memorizing bone structure as he sucks at Jackson's collarbone, keeping his mouth occupied. Incredible, Jackson's hand on him so rough and firm, never pausing for a moment, and the sound of Jackson sucking in ragged pieces of air.

"Hey, is this good, is this okay," Jackson says, nearly inaudible, and Mark just nods, the top of his skull knocking against Jackson's jaw. A few moments later he pries Jackson's fingers off, though, lifting his mouth away from Jackson's skin to whisper "but you gotta stop for a while if you want me to blow you."

"Yes, fuck, pleaseplease _please_ – "

Mark hooks an index finger into the waistband of Jackson's boxer shorts and yanks down, smirking at Jackson's answering full-body shudder, the way Jackson's hips buck up. Times like these it's difficult to resist teasing, just a little.

"Mm. You want something?"

"Goddamnit it, Mark," Jackson chokes, squirming, teeth gritted around a groan. "Are you really gonna do this to me right now? This revenge for the refrigerator incident last week?"

"Nah, guess I'll play nice today," Mark murmurs, smiling against the hollow of Jackson's jugular knot, and the tension in Jackson's muscles ease just slightly. Mark's hands slide further south, and his mouth follows their path; he brushes his lips feather-light against Jackson's chest, presses his tongue over his navel. 

Without being told Jackson spreads his thighs, allowing Mark better access, and Mark holds them open, dipping his head down to settle between Jackson's legs, as Jackson guides his cock into Mark's mouth with shaking hands.

And Mark has done this before, obviously, but he's always slightly unsure of himself at the beginning, a little uncertain. At first his movements are tentative, testing the waters, breath ghosting over the head of Jackson's cock, light experimental licks over the slit. Jackson writhes beneath him, arching his back, groaning low and guttural in his throat. 

"God, Mark, your  _mouth_. It was made for this."

"How often do I need to tell you, don't even say it," Mark warns, pausing to glare up at him, and Jackson rubs his thumb over Mark's lower lip, murmuring "sorry, sorry," sounding almost genuinely contrite, so – 

Jackson manages to keep silent as Mark glides his mouth slowly over the head of his cock, but Mark can feel his thighs quaking beneath his palm. Mark wraps his lips around the crown, humming low enough that it's more vibration than sound, pressing the tips of his fingers into the shadows of Jackson's hipbones, and then sounds pour out of Jackson's mouth, none of them words.

"More, Mark, please," Jackson pleads, threading his fingers through Mark's hair, yanking hard enough to spark a wave of pain-pleasure that travels all the way down Mark's spine. Mark sinks down further, gradually, letting the head of Jackson's cock glide across the roof of his mouth.

Jackson's fingers clench white-knuckled in the sheets as Mark goes down in earnest, his lips wrapped suction-tight around Jackson's cock, one hand curving over the base. It hurts when Jackson accidentally jerks his hips too hard and his cock hits the back of Mark's throat, and his jaw aches already, but it's completely and utterly worth it to hear the stutter of Jackson's breath, the half-stifled moans. He flicks his gaze upward to meet Jackson's and Jackson holds it like it's a precious thing, with his mouth open, pupils blown dark and wide, and Mark is having trouble breathing for more reasons than the obvious.

He's not perfect at this, Mark knows. In fact he's never done it quite right the whole way through -- he always loses the rhythm between his hand and his mouth, sometimes applies too much teeth and not enough pressure. But Jackson always reacts like it's the best blowjob he's ever had, like Mark's the best thing he's ever known despite all the girls he’s had, and Mark has everything he's ever wanted but no idea what to do with that, most of the time.

"Mark, fuck, Mark, Mark," Jackson gasps helplessly, fingers clenching in Mark's hair even as he pulls away, "I'm gonna, you can pull off now, if you want," but Mark doesn't let him, digs his fingers into Jackson's hips to keep him there. Jackson comes with Mark's name on his mouth and his fingers in Mark's hair, and Mark swallows convulsively, taking it all in, the taste so sharp and incredibly familiar.

"Mark," Jackson says when it's over, propping himself up by the elbows, his eyes still glassy and unfocused. "I’m gonna return the favor, I swear, just, you gotta give me a second to recover.”

"Don’t worry about it. Later, maybe." Mark smiles up at him and says, his voice raw and sandpaper-rough with Jackson's come, "welcome back."

"Best welcome I've ever had," Jackson says, pulling Mark in for a kiss with both his hands cradling Mark's face. "'course, it's the only welcome present I've ever gotten," he adds, when Mark pulls away for air, and doesn't manage to evade Mark's punch this time around.

"You're an asshole."

"Yup." Jackson tucks his face into the crook of Mark's neck. "But you love me."

"Yeah," Mark says, quietly. "Crazily enough, I do."

Mark can't see Jackson's smile from this angle, but he can feel it nonetheless, curved across his skin.


End file.
